Anastasia and Her Sisters (11 page)

“If he helps your brother, who suffers so very much, then it doesn’t matter what I think.”

She refused to say more.

•  •  •

The hunting season in Poland passed without much happening, except to the poor stags, and OTMA counted the days until we would board the train for Livadia. The
Standart
would be there, and Lieutenant Voronov. Mama would be more relaxed, and there would be lots of interesting visitors, like the emir of Bukhara and his red-bearded court.

But once again Papa had to deal with Romanov family problems. Our cousin Maria Pavlovna, Dmitri’s older sister, had left her Swedish husband and gone to live with her father in France. Her father was Papa’s uncle, Grand Duke Pavel Alexandrovich, who asked Papa’s permission to arrange for Maria Pavlovna’s divorce, explaining that she was ill.

I scarcely knew Dmitri’s sister, and I wasn’t much concerned with whether or not Papa would allow her to divorce her husband. It seemed odd, though, that Papa should have to decide who was allowed to marry or get divorced, even if he
was
the Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias and God’s representative on earth. Didn’t Papa have enough to do without that?

When I told Aunt Olga what I thought, she smiled and said, “I understand why you think as you do, my dear little Nastya, but that’s simply the way it is. When you’re older, I will tell you my own story.”

“Why not tell me now, dear aunt? I’m twelve, and I think I’m quite old enough to hear it.”

But she shook her head and hugged me, whispering, “Someday, but not quite yet.”

Being told that I was too young to hear something obviously very important and interesting was maddening—and made me determined to find out what it was.

Then in October, while we were at Livadia, we learned that our cousin Irina was going to marry Felix Yussoupov.

We hadn’t seen Irina since the previous spring, when Dmitri was my escort at the celebration but flirted madly with Irina. Felix was Dmitri’s best friend—they were often together—and Felix had also been flirting with Irina.

Mama was horrified when she heard about Irina’s plans. “I would never allow any of my daughters to have anything at all to do with Felix,” she said firmly. “And certainly not marry him!”

Olga did not want to talk about it.

The more I see of these engagements, the less I want one. I’ll soon be eighteen, and I know my parents are thinking of a suitable husband for me. But I am more than ever in love with my dear, sweet friend. I don’t need to name him. And he has made clear his love for me. He knows as well as I do that marriage is impossible, Father would never consent to it, but we have promised ourselves and each other that we will cherish each day, each hour, that we can be together until it is no longer possible. How I dread that day.

Olga celebrated her eighteenth birthday in Livadia at a party with a splendid luncheon with dancing afterward, not
in the palace but on the quarterdeck of the
Standart
. Naturally, Lieutenant Voronov was among her partners, but she danced with him only twice. I know they would have danced every dance if they could, but they behaved prudently and danced with others. I could see that he was always searching for her, and her eyes followed him wherever he went, but unless I missed something, there was no chance for them to slip out of sight.

I wondered who else in our family knew about her real feelings. Surely others must have noticed how she glowed like a dozen candles when he was nearby. I should have guessed it would be Aunt Olga.

The only person in whom I can confide is Aunt Olga. She brought it up herself just yesterday. She said that Mother and Father are aware of my “attachment.” I asked if they want to end it, and she said it is very likely. I began to cry, and she was so kind and understanding and told me something I didn’t know about her marriage to Petya. She has never loved him, but Grandmère Marie insisted on the marriage, because she didn’t want Aunt Olga to leave Russia. It was a disaster from the beginning. “Our marriage is unconsummated,” she said, and that shocked me. I didn’t know what to say.

I wouldn’t have known what to say either, because I didn’t know what
unconsummated
meant. It was probably another word to add to my list of words not to be used.

Possibly, I thought, it had something to do with what happened between married people, and that was a totally forbidden subject. Whenever I asked a question—and I had lots
of questions—Mama always told me the same thing: “Time enough for you to know all that, my girlie, when you are grown up and ready to marry.” Don’t even say the word! Better not even to think it!

Shura, my nurse, had explained to me the changes that a girl’s body goes through as she becomes a woman, the “visits from Madame Becker,” but nothing beyond that. Marie was also completely uninformed, and our older sisters were not much help. Tatiana explained how babies grow inside their mothers, because she remembered when Mama was expecting Alexei, but not even Olga would say how the babies got there.

Expecting
was a proper word, according to Tatiana, but
pregnant
was not to be used, along with
bosom
and
mistress
. I made up a little song: “If a
mistress
has a
bosom
she might be
pregnant
.” It had the desired effect—Tatiana turned red and called me
Shvibzik
.

Now I had a new word to spring on her:
unconsummated
.

•  •  •

Alexei, doing something silly and reckless, fell off a chair. This time he hit his knee, it began to swell all the way down to his ankle, and he couldn’t walk. The pain was even worse than usual. The new doctor, Derevenko, prescribed hot mud baths, and eventually he did get better—whether it was the mud or Father Grigory’s prayers, I couldn’t say—but we stayed in Livadia longer than usual.

Olga, of course, didn’t mind at all that we lingered in Livadia, because that meant she would see more of Pavel Voronov. She didn’t even bother to pretend that she was not in love with him, and I was a little embarrassed to read in her
notebook such romantic stuff as
My tender darling smiled, and I could read the love in his eyes
, and
My dear, sweet friend rejoiced when I told him we could meet for a walk in the rose garden
.

But the roses soon faded, and we left Livadia to return to Tsarskoe Selo when Alexei’s pain was somewhat better. Then something went awfully wrong for Olga. Her eyes were red and swollen from weeping, and she wouldn’t say what had happened. I was sure it had something to do with Pavel.

Marie asked me, “What do you think has upset Olya?” I shrugged and said I didn’t know. Marie said, “Well, let’s ask her.”

I was with Marie when she spoke to Olga. Tatiana was there, too, also waiting for the explanation.

“It’s quite simple,” Olga said sadly. She sat on the edge of her bed, smoothing her dress over her knees, pressing a row of lace that would not lie flat. “Mother and Father have informed me that I must break off my friendship with Lieutenant Voronov. He has become engaged to Olga Kleinmichel.”

“Olga Kleinmichel!” Marie exclaimed. “She’s one of Mama’s ladies-in-waiting, and she’s not half as pretty as you, Olya!”

I nudged Marie and whispered for her to hush. Tatiana bit her lip.

Olga tried to smile and ended up choking back tears. “It really doesn’t matter. They’re friends. Her aunt has an estate near Livadia, and he’s been spending time there. He isn’t in love with her, I know that much, but I don’t know if she loves him or not. They’re to be married at the beginning of February, and then he is being given a leave of two months, for them to travel.
They’re to live in St. Petersburg, I understand. Pasha”—she corrected herself—“Lieutenant Voronov has been reassigned to the yacht
Alexandria
. No more
Standart
. I think he’s sad about that. He loves the
Standart
!”

She stopped and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Marie, who hated to see anyone crying and unhappy, ran to Olga and hugged her. Tatiana, arms folded across her chest, frowned and said sternly, “You didn’t think Mother and Father would allow it to go on any longer, did you? And you didn’t exactly keep it a secret.”

“Oh, I knew we’d never be allowed to marry!” Olga said. “But Aunt Olga has never been allowed to marry the man she loves, and no one seems to be terribly upset about that.”

“But she’s married to Uncle Petya!” Marie said, wide-eyed.

“The marriage is unconsummated,” I said, pleased that I knew something Marie didn’t. I instantly regretted it. All three of my sisters stared at me.

“It’s what?” Marie asked innocently.

“How do you know that?” Tatiana demanded.

“How do you even know the word?” Olga asked, and I could see that she might have caught on how I learned it—by reading her notebook.

“It’s just one of those words,” I said, shrugging, and quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, what were you saying about Aunt Olga?”

“We’re not supposed to talk about it,” Tatiana said.

“But we
are
talking about it, aren’t we?” Olga said. “So let’s just say it: Aunt Olga doesn’t love Petya, and she never did. Grandmère Marie wanted her to marry him, and so she
did. But they never—” Olga hesitated and looked helplessly at Tatiana.

“Lived as husband and wife,” Tatiana said, completing her sentence. “More like brother and sister.”

“You mean they never kissed?” Marie asked.

“Exactly,” said Olga, sounding relieved. “They never kissed.”

“And that’s what ‘unconsummated’ means?”

“Well, yes,” Tatiana said—unconvincingly, I thought.

“Who is it she really loves?” Marie wanted to know.

“A cavalry officer,” Olga said, sniffling. “Nikolai Kulikovsky.”

“But you said Aunt Olga isn’t allowed to marry the man she really loves and wants to kiss,” I said, determined to get to the truth of the matter. “Why not?”

“Because she’s still married to Uncle Petya, and he won’t give her a divorce.”

“So Uncle Petya and Aunt Olga live separately,” Tatiana explained.

“And she sees Nikolai Kulikovsky as much as she wants,” Olga said. “Mama says it’s shocking.”

Marie sighed. “I wonder if she kisses him.”

Olga started to say something, but Tatiana gave her a sharp look and Olga kept silent.

“I’m confused by all of this,” I announced.

“Good,” Tatiana said. “I’m glad to hear that, Nastya. This is not a proper subject for a girlie your age, and I suggest we talk about something else.”

I hated it when Tatiana called me a girlie. That’s what Mama called us. Tatiana is only four years older than I am, and
we nicknamed her “the Governess” because she is so bossy. I did not think that gave her the right to call us girlies. I decided to say nothing but gave her a
look
. As for kissing and being unconsummated, I would have to wait for my next chance at Olga’s notebook for more information on the subject.

CHAPTER 8

Out in Society

ST. PETERSBURG, WINTER 1914

P
apa took my sisters and me to spend Christmas Eve with Grandmère Marie. Aunt Xenia and Uncle Sandro came to Anichkov Palace with their daughter, Irina, who was planning to marry Felix Yussoupov in February, and their six uncivilized sons.

Preparations for Christmas had exhausted Mama. “Baby and I will stay at home and have a cozy supper together, and the rest of you can have a gay time and come back and tell us all about it.”

I knew that exhaustion was just an excuse. She and Grandmère were extremely polite to each other, but the chill between them seemed to have increased another few degrees. Olga said it was because each felt she should be the most important woman in Papa’s life. “Mother thinks that Grandmère Marie treats Father as if he was still a boy, and
Grandmère thinks that Mother has too much to say about how Father rules Russia.”

Also, Mama could not bear to be around Aunt Xenia and “her brood,” as Mama called all those big, noisy boys, when she herself had produced only four daughters and one sickly son.

When Olga was born, cannons boomed one hundred times to announce to the Russian people that a daughter had been born to the tsar and tsaritsa. Mama and Papa were happy to have such a healthy daughter. A year and half later Tatiana arrived, and again the cannons boomed one hundred times. Our parents were happy to welcome a second daughter. Two years later, Marie appeared, and they were grateful for another daughter, but they must have thought,
Surely the next time
.

But when the next time came two years later, it was a fourth daughter,
me
, Anastasia, and everyone stopped pretending to be happy or grateful. Poor Mama! It was her duty to provide a male heir to the throne. She cried and cried—one of my nurses told me this—although Papa didn’t show how disappointed he was. Mama must have felt that she absolutely
had
to have a baby boy the next time. There had to be a
next time
!

So when Alexei was born, the cannons boomed three hundred and one times, and the whole country went mad with joy. But Alexei was not strong and healthy like Xenia’s sons. Every time he hurt himself, Mama feared he might die and there would be no heir. No one blamed Mama for feeling envious of Aunt Xenia, no matter how oafish those boys were.

Anichkov Palace was beautiful, the Christmas tree was lovely, the twelve traditional Russian dishes were served, and lots of French dishes, too, including another awful jellied fish
that I managed to avoid. Irina and her fiancé, Felix, were there early in the evening. Felix was certainly handsome, but in my opinion not as handsome as Dmitri. After they had gone on to the Yussoupovs’ palace for another gathering, Aunt Xenia told us about the plans for Irina’s wedding in February. They’d decided to have it there in Anichkov Palace. Aunt Xenia was delighted that they had somehow gotten hold of a lace veil that once belonged to Marie Antoinette. I don’t know why that made her so happy, considering what happened to the French queen in the end.